Then there were some elderly men who seemed to be going along on the ride for no special reason. A few of them had their grandchildren along, and the children were darting about like little beasts. One of the children was screaming for candy and when the demand was refused the child rebelled against getting on the bus. An elderly lady told the grandfather he ought to be ashamed of himself, it certainly wouldn't harm the little darling to have a bite of candy. The old man thanked her to mind her own business. They were blocking the doorway of the bus as they discussed the candy issue, and Cassidy told them to argue about it inside the bus.

  The line of passengers moved slowly past Cassidy as he collected the tickets. Now the bus was getting filled and then it was all filled except for one seat. Cassidy stood there at the door and saw the final passenger coming through the turnstile. It was Haney Kenrick.

  Haney wore a wide-brimmed dark-brown hat with a bright orange feather in the ribbon. He had on a double-breasted dark-brown suit that appeared to be almost new. His face gleamed pink and apparently he had spent the past half-hour in a barber shop. He smiled widely as he came up to Cassidy and presented his ticket.

  Cassidy studied the smile. It was the exaggerated cheerfulness of a man who had spent the early morning hours with whisky. Haney seemed to have taken just enough of it to make himself feel happy.

  Cassidy shook his head. “Nothing doing, Haney.”

  “But look, here's my ticket. I'm going to Easton.”

  “You don't want to go to Easton.”

  “Why, sure I do. I figure I'll work Easton today.”

  “Installment selling needs a car,” Cassidy said. “Where's your car? Where's your merchandise?”

  Haney was stopped for a moment. Then he said, “Well, it's like this. Today I'll just case the town. I'll just look it over.”

  Cassidy saw the superintendent watching and starting to move forward to hear what was going on. He knew he couldn't refuse Haney's ticket. He told himself to accept the situation and he said, “All right, get in.”

  He followed Haney into the bus and told himself to forget Haney. He concentrated on the idea that Haney was just another passenger. Settling himself into the driver's seat, he pushed the swinging lever that closed the door. Then he turned the switch and started the engine.

  And then behind him there was some shoving and he glanced over his shoulder and saw Haney crowding an elderly lady. She was glaring at Haney and motioning with two pointed forefingers toward the rear of the bus, indicating a single vacant seat back there. Haney ignored her and moved clumsily, but sufficiently fast to take the seat directly behind the driver. The lady tossed her head with indignation as she started moving toward the rear of the bus.

  Cassidy rolled the bus away from the depot, took it west on Arch to Broad Street, made the right-hand turn sending the bus into the heavy morning traffic on Broad. A red light stopped the bus and Cassidy saw a stream of smoke drifting past his face. He turned and saw the long, thick cigar in Haney's mouth.

  “All right,” Cassidy said. “Kill it.”

  “No smoking?”

  Cassidy pointed to the printed sign above the windshield. He watched Haney pressing the lighted end of the cigar against the floor board. Then Haney brushed off the loose ash and gently placed the cigar in his breast pocket. Haney said, “Why no smoking?”

  “It's a company rule,” Cassidy said. “They got another rule against talking to the driver when the bus is in motion.”

  “But, now look, Jim, I got a few things on my mind—”

  “Save it.”

  “It can't wait.”

  “It'll have to wait,” Cassidy said. The light turned green and an Austin cut in front of the bus and he slammed on the brakes.

  “Jim—”

  “Ah, for Christ's sake.”

  “Jim, what ails you? I thought we settled things last night.”

  “So did I. Now you start the day with another discussion. But I'm working, Haney. I don't want to be bothered when I'm working.”

  “All I want to say is—”

  “Shut up,” Cassidy said. “Just sit there and shut up.”

  The bus went weaving in and out through the thick crawling parade of automobiles and trucks going north on Broad Street. It was difficult, delicate weaving that demanded Cassidy's full concentration and constant manipulating of the air brakes. The automobiles, especially the smaller ones, had a habit of darting out in front of the bus, passing on the right, stopping suddenly in front of the bus, continually worrying it as though it were a huge clumsy whale and they were killer sharks snapping at its sides. The ride going north up Broad Street was always the worst headache of the Easton run, and it had a nerve-racking resemblance to the job of trying to put jagged thread through a needle.

  The automobiles were always making it miserable for him. There were times when he felt tempted to tag one of these pests and ruin a fender or two. The only nice feature about Broad Street in the early morning was the intersection at Roosevelt Boulevard where the heavy traffic came to an end.

  Cassidy passed the boulevard, sent the bus past a succession of green lights, turned onto York Road and passed the city line. Now it was easy driving and he had the bus going at forty, cruising smoothly on the wide white-concrete highway aiming at Jenkintown. Through the roar of the engine he could hear the chattering of the elderly ladies, the giggling and shouting and occasional whining of the children.

  A horn sounded behind him and he pulled slightly to the right. The horn sounded again and he glanced at the rearview mirror. As he reached out to tilt it he saw the automobile swerving out to pass him on the left. The automobile went past but he kept his eyes on the rearview mirror because it gave him a partial view of Haney and he saw a flask in Haney's hand.

  He saw Haney taking the cap off the flask and lifting the flask and taking a long drink.

  He turned his head slightly and said, “Put the flask away.”

  “No drinking allowed?”

  He waited for Haney to put the flask away.

  Haney said, “I don't see any printed sign.”

  “Put that damn flask away or I'll stop the bus.”

  “All right, Jim. No offense.”

  Haney lowered the flask into the inner breast pocket of his jacket.

  The bus reached the crest of a hill and started down on a curving run that took it between bright green slopes with the sunlight splashing white on the road and yellow-green across the fields. The road going down was smooth and nicely banked and the bus made another turn and went riding onto level highway.

  “Jim, we might as well talk it over.”

  “I said not now. Not here.”

  “It's important. I was up all last night thinking about it.”

  “What do you want, Haney? What the hell do you want?”

  “I figure there's a way we can help each other.”

  “Listen,” Cassidy said. “There's only one way you can help me. Get off my ear.”

  In the rear-view mirror Cassidy could see Haney's fat massaged pink face. Haney was perspiring and the edges of his shirt collar were wet. He had the dead cigar in his mouth and he was chewing on it.

  “Well, it's up to you,” Haney said. “You can settle it one way or another.”

  “Settle what?”

  “The situation.”

  “There's no situation,” Cassidy said. “There's no issue. At least not where I'm concerned.”

  “You're wrong. You got no idea how wrong you are. I tell you you're in a lot of trouble.”

  Cassidy told himself it was just talk, it meant nothing. But the feeling of apprehension hit him and then tugged at him, and he heard himself saying, “What kind?”

  “The worst kind,” Haney said. “When a woman starts to hate you. When she really has it in for you. I'm in the room with Mildred. She's sitting on the bed. She talks out loud like she's alone in the room talking to herself. She starts calling you a lot of names—”

  “That ain't important,” Cassidy cut in. And he grinned. “I've heard her call me every name in the book.”

  “You didn't hear it the way I heard it.” Haney's tone was serious, almost solemn. “I tell you, Jim, she means to give you a bad time. A really bad time.”

  Cassidy went on grinning, to shove aside the apprehension. It allowed itself to be shoved, and he said lightly, “What has she got in mind?”

  “I don't know. She didn't say what her plans were. But she did a lot of talking about you and that little skinny girl, that Doris.”

  Cassidy lost the grin. “Doris?” His hands tightened on the steering wheel. “One thing I know for sure. Mildred better think twice before she tries to hurt Doris.”

  “Mildred ain't the type to think twice. She's wild, she's vicious—”

  You don't have to tell me,” Cassidy said. “I know what she is:,

  “You do? Maybe you don't. Maybe I know her better than you do.” Haney took the cigar from his mouth, held it away from his face and looked along the length of it. “Mildred hits hard. She's a slugger. She can do a lot of damage.”

  “That's another thing I know,” Cassidy said. “Tell me something new.”

  “She's out to smash you and make you crawl. That's what she wants. To see you crawl. She'll hammer you down until you're nothing. And I hate to think what she'll do to Doris.”

  Cassidy stared at the onrushing path of wide white concrete. “I don't think I get this. If you're playing poker, Haney, I'm not playing.”

  “It ain't poker. I'm showing you all my cards. You know I want Mildred. I'm dying a slow death because I can't have her. I'm thinking there's only one way I can win her over.”

  “That's what I don't get,” Cassidy said. “You've set yourself on fire for this woman, you want her more than you want anything. But then you sit there and tell me I better go back to her.”

  “I didn't say that.”

  “You sure as hell let me know she wants me to come back.”

  “Crawling,” Haney said. “I said that's all she wants. It ain't you. She don't want you. Only one thing she's itching to see. To see you flat on your belly, crawling back to her. So she can haul off and kick you in the face and send you crawling away. All she wants is the satisfaction.”

  “That's fine. You know when she'll get it? When the Atlantic Ocean dries up.”

  But then in the rearview mirror he saw Haney shaking his head.

  And Haney said, “She'll get it, Jim. She's that kind. She'll find a way to get exactly what she wants.”

  “So what am I supposed to do?”

  “Make it easy for yourself.” Haney leaned forward. His whisper had a thick, oily quality. “For your own sake. And if you really care for this girl, this Doris, you'll be doing it for her sake.”

  “Say it, Haney. Just say it.”

  “All right.” The whisper became louder, and its oiliness was thicker. “I say you should go back to Mildred. But not like a man. Like a worm. Go on your knees, on your belly. Go crawling. And when she throws you out the door it'll be all over, she'll have had her satisfaction and that'll wind it up.”

  Just then a huge orange-and-white truck came rushing toward the bus. The bus was climbing a hill and the truck had negotiated a turn at the crest of the hill and swung too widely. The bus pulled over and the truck veered in toward the other side of the road. But it seemed there wouldn't be enough leeway. The bus appeared to shudder and cringe and then the truck swished past and it was all right.

  “Close,” Cassidy said.

  “Jim?”

  “I'm still here. I heard you.”

  “What'll it be?”

  Cassidy's reply was a laugh. It was a hard, dry laugh and the taste of it was sour.

  “Don't laugh, Jim. Please don't laugh.” And now Haney had the flask in his hand and he was taking a drink. “You've got to do it, Jim. You can't do anything else. If you don't do it—”

  “Jesus, man, cut it out, will you?”

  Haney took another drink. “I claim it's the only way. It's the only thing that can be done.” Then more liquor went down his throat. And then another drink and there was enough of it in him to make him completely subjective and he said, “I need Mildred so bad. And that's the only way I can get her. Right now she has only one thing on her mind. She wants that satisfaction. So do it, Jim. Do it, please do it. Go to her and let her throw you out. And then I know she'll look at me.”

  Cassidy laughed again.

  Haney took another drink.

  Haney said, “I've got some money in the bank.”

  “I told you to cut it out.”

  “I've got close to three thousand dollars.”

  “Now listen,” Cassidy said. “I want you to shut up. And put that goddamned flask in your pocket.”

  “Three thousand dollars,” Haney blubbered. He put his hand on Cassidy's shoulder. “Exact figure is twenty-seven hundred. That's my estate. My life savings.”

  “Take your hand off me.”

  Haney kept his hand on Cassidy's shoulder. He said, “I'll pay you, Jim. I'll pay you to do it.”

  Cassidy took hold of Haney's hand and pushed it away.

  “Jim, did you hear what I said? I said I'll pay you.”

  “Drop it.”

  Haney took another drink. “You can use the money. It's good money.”

  “Forget it, will you? Drop it.”

  “Five hundred? How's five hundred?”

  Cassidy rolled his underlip between his teeth and bit hard. The bus was climbing again and the top of the hill was white-hot concrete under the full blaze of the sun. The bus strained to reach the top of the hill.

  “I'll make it six hundred,” Haney said. “I'm willing to pay you six hundred dollars cold cash.”

  Cassidy opened his mouth, took a deep breath, then locked his lips tightly.

  “Seven hundred,” Haney said. He put the flask to his mouth and threw his head back. He took a long pull at the flask, and he had to drag it away from his face so he could talk again. He said hoarsely and loudly, “I know what you're doing. You think you got me at a disadvantage. All right, you bastard. You got me. I admit you got me. I'll give you a thousand dollars.”

  Cassidy twisted his head, started to say something, realized he didn't have time and he had to get his eyes back on the road. But as he faced the road again he could feel Haney's weight leaning on him, he could smell the full sloppy-sweet liquor breath of Haney. Now the bus had reached the top of the hill and it started the descent.

  The road going down was curving, with the Delaware river curving in from the other side, so that the road and the river were a sort of forceps, the river bordered with another ribbon of water, the thin ribbon of the Delaware Canal. And far down there the canal was separated from the road by a barrier of big rocks. Past that there was another hill and it was very high. In order to negotiate the hill the bus had to gain a lot of speed going down. The bus went speeding down the hill. Cassidy could feel the trembling of the bus and he could hear the roaring of the engine.

  As the bus went faster going down, Cassidy could hear the delighted cries of the children, and in the mirror he saw them hopping up and down in their seats. He saw the serious faces of the older passengers and the way they gripped the sides of the chairs. Then the mirror showed only one face and it was the face of Haney Kenrick, very close and very large in the mirror. Haney was leaning on him and he shouted at Haney to sit down.

  Haney was too drunk to listen, too drunk to know what was happening. Then Haney tried to lean farther forward and in doing so he lost his balance. He reached out with both hands. His right hand sought the post at the side of the driver's seat. In his left hand he held the partially filled flask. He didn't know he was holding the flask, that he held it upside down so that the whisky was spilling onto Cassidy's head and face and shoulders. His right hand missed the post and as he swung over to reach it with his left hand he sent the flask crashing against Cassidy's head.

  Cassidy was instantly unconscious and his chest came down on the steering wheel. One arm dangled and the other arm was hooked over the wheel, turning it. His foot pressed hard on the accelerator. The bus went screaming down the hill.

  Then down toward the base of the hill the bus kept turning and it leaned over on two wheels, toppled there on the edge of the road as it continued to race its way down. It stayed on two wheels and then it was on no wheels and it rolled over, away from the road. It rolled over going down over the side of the hill. It rolled over and over. It kept rolling until it smashed against the big rocks near the Delaware Canal. The gasoline caught fire and exploded.

  The wreckage of the burning bus was a blotch of orange and black on the sunlit rocks.

  8

  Cassidy had a feeling his head had been torn off and a new one made of cement had been set on his shoulders. He had to turn his head several times to see where he was. The last thing he remembered was being wedged in among some rocks, his lips pushed apart by something metallic, then seeing Haney Kenrick, the flask in Haney's hand, hearing Haney's quivering voice urging him to drink from the flask. He remembered the burning of the alcohol as it went down his throat, too much of it coming into his mouth and going down, so that finally he choked on it. And just before he went out again, he had looked full into the face of Haney.

  Now a face came toward him. But it wasn't Haney's face. It was a narrow, aged face with thin lips and a sharp chin. Behind it there were other faces. Cassidy saw the uniforms of State Highway Police. He centered on that for a moment and then he came back to the narrow face of the seventy-year-old doctor who leaned over him.

  A voice said, “How is he?”

  “He's all right,” the doctor said.

  “Any bones broken?”

  “No, he's all right.” Then the doctor spoke to Cassidy. “Come on, get up.”

  One of the policemen said, “He looks hurt.”

  “He ain't hurt at all.” The doctor closed his eyes hard, as though trying to clear his vision. The eyes were red-rimmed. It seemed the doctor had been crying. He looked at Cassidy with something on the order of hate. “You know you ain't hurt. Come on, get up.”